


something like a sunset (oh, you’re a shooting star)

by ladypeaceful



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Office, Beach House, Caretaking, Fluff and Crack, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, jens is a wingman and serves no other purpose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypeaceful/pseuds/ladypeaceful
Summary: idk why i did this but it's utter nonsense and robbe and sander are in their mid-to-late 20s i guess (i was imagining robbe being 26 and sander being 27) alsothe original dialogue from the office is indeed word-for-word in the beginning of thisbut after that i went completely off the rails lmao i’ve never seen the show so this isn’t a real office!aualso titles are from love like woe by the ready setsecond chapter will be smut
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	something like a sunset (oh, you’re a shooting star)

**Author's Note:**

> idk why i did this but it's utter nonsense and robbe and sander are in their mid-to-late 20s i guess (i was imagining robbe being 26 and sander being 27) also [the original dialogue from the office is indeed word-for-word in the beginning of this](https://www.quotes.net/mquote/915631) ~~but after that i went completely off the rails lmao i’ve never seen the show so this isn’t a real office!au~~ also titles are from love like woe by the ready set  
>  ~~second chapter will be smut~~

Robbe sighs. He massages his temples, closing his eyes briefly before reopening them.

“Yasmina is coming later today. I cannot have a subordinate trying to make me look stupid. Okay? I need you to promise me you’ll be on your best behavior.”

“I _promised_ other people that I would be on my worst behavior,” Sander sounds nonchalant. “And I gave them my word, so…”

"Don’t make me fire you,” Robbe warns.

“You can’t fire me. You’re acting manager.” Sander is infuriatingly calm, those green eyes unwavering. “Not office manager. So you have no firing powers.”

Robbe leans forward in his chair. “Don’t make me pre-fire you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch this,” Robbe points at him, doing his best to glare down the man sitting before him. Does he look intimidating? Does he sound intimidating? He hopes so. “You’re pre-fired. And when I’m promoted, you’ll be full fired.”

Sander gets to his feet.

His voice is low as he stares right back at Robbe, his face a mask of complete seriousness.

“ _If_ you get promoted,” Sander says, “and _if_ you haven’t fallen in love with me by then.”

The words hit Robbe like a wave crashing onto the shore.

“What?”

He thinks he might have blacked out for a second there.

“Yeah, you heard me. The company retreat is this weekend and, well, let’s just say there’s a crisp twenty dollar bill in my pocket waiting to bribe whoever’s in charge of assigning rooms.” Sander wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Sander winks. Robbe’s heart skips so many beats he thinks it might have stopped. “Anyways, gotta run. I have a meeting at three. Good talk, IJzermans.”

The second Sander has sauntered back through Robbe’s door and out of sight, his heart immediately starts overcompensating for earlier, pounding so hard that he’s afraid it might burst right out of his chest and run after Sander.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, sinking down in his chair and covering his face with his hands.

* * *

The one who assigns their rooms, much to Robbe’s chagrin, is none other than Jens. Just his luck that the only person in the office who knows about his crush on Sander is also the one who now holds the fate of his weekend in his grasp. The utter humiliation of it all.

He takes another swig from his beer, and dusts a bit of sand off his leg. He’s lost count of how many drinks he’s had but he suspects that quite a few of the empty bottles in the pile between him and Jens belonged to him.

He certainly doesn’t let his gaze linger on Sander’s tiny, half-naked form in the distance where he’s currently dominating in a game of volleyball on the beach with the girls.

“I’m never trusting you with any personal information ever again. _This_ is why people keep their secrets bottled up instead of confiding in their friends. I get it now. The second we get back, I’m legally changing my name and selling my house.”

Jens bumps his shoulder. “Look, you can keep griping on about this all you want, but why don’t you just see where this goes? You might be surprised, Robbe. Trust your best friend, come on.”

“We’re not friends anymore.” Robbe hiccups angrily, if that’s possible. “You revoked our relationship the second you took Sander’s money.”

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt if it would finally stop you from pining after him.”

“I don’t _pine_ ,” Robbe insists. Tiny Sander launches himself into the air, spiking the ball perfectly into the sand. He is _not_ pining. His head is spinning a little too much for that right now.

Tiny Sander scoops up one of the girls from accounting—Britt, from the looks of it—into his arms and spins her around a few times, whooping. Not pining at _all_. He finishes off his beer and reaches for another one without thinking. It’s a little difficult with how much he’s swaying but he manages to get the cap off the bottle.

“Just so you know,” Jens nudges him again, “Britt offered me fifty to give her a room with Sander but I turned her down. I turned down an extra thirty bucks _for you_ , man.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Robbe grumbles. But he clinks his beer against Jens’ proffered can of Rolling Rock.

Tiny Sander is rapidly increasing in size now, as Robbe realizes that he’s running towards them, shaking his hair out of his eyes as he skids to a halt next to the cooler and spraying sand everywhere. Robbe brushes himself off but he’s unable to stop himself from squinting up at Sander. His shock of bleached blond hair is brighter than the sun and Robbe can’t tear his eyes away.

“Hey, IJzermans.” Sander pops the cap off a Heineken and chugs half the bottle in one go. Robbe tries not to choke at the sight of a solitary bead of sweat running down Sander’s neck and collarbone to his bare chest. And for the most part he succeeds.

“Hey,” is all he can manage.

Sander seems unfazed by his short reply. “Join us for the next round? You too,” he nods at Jens, who brightens.

Robbe tries to wave Sander off. “No, I’m not really—”

“Come _on,_ you’ve just been sitting around drinking since we got here.” Sander gestures around him. “I’m starting to think you don’t wanna be here.”

Jens gets up. “I’m game.” He holds out a hand to Robbe.

_“God_ , you two are _so_ annoying. Fine.”

He takes Jens’ hand and gets to his feet, stumbling a little. Or a lot. At least enough that Sander catches him by the shoulder.

“Careful now.”

Robbe wriggles away from Sander’s touch. “I’m fine. Just a little— _hic_ —tipsy.”

“Hey.” Sander actually sounds concerned. “How much have you had to drink, Robbe?”

“Dunno,” Robbe gestures vaguely at the bottle pile. He looks at the bottle in his hand, or tries to; his eyes are having trouble focusing. His brain, too. He attempts to remember how to count. “Six, maybe.” Numbers are so wild.

“You don’t look so good.”

Robbe doesn’t feel so good either, but he’s not about to admit that.

“Let’s get you some water, huh? And maybe lie down in the shade.” Sander’s grip is back on his arm and this time he’s too dazed to shake it off.

“I’m—no, ’s all good,” Robbe protests weakly, “Sander, seriously—”

He doesn’t remember hitting the ground.

* * *

A soft voice pulls him back into consciousness.

He feels awful and sluggish and the second he moves to sit up, he knows he’s about to empty his stomach of its contents.

Sander (now fully clothed, praise the heavens) moves the trash can next to him just in time.

Robbe lets out a drawn-out groan. He hasn’t puked his guts out like that in years.

“Fuck.”

“Doing okay?” Sander rubs a soothing hand in circles across Robbe’s back. It’s nice. He’s tempted to lean into the touch. But he stops himself.

“Yeah, ’m fine,” Robbe mumbles, not wanting to sound too grateful, but also not wanting to come off as a complete asshole.

“I figured it would be better for you to rest up in our room. Away from prying eyes and all that.”

_Our_ room?

It occurs to him that he is, in fact, in a bed. In the bottom bunk of a bunk bed, to be precise.

Sander is tall enough that he has to crane his neck weirdly to be able to fit in the space where he’s sitting on the edge of Robbe’s bed. It can’t be comfortable. Robbe has half a mind to tell him to scoot further onto the mattress so he can reposition himself, but—no. That’s crazy. He’s got to be out of his mind. Why would _Sander_ —

“If you want, I’ll leave you alone.” Sander interrupts his train of thought, looking a little sheepish now. “I only woke you up because you were… um, well. Talking in your sleep.”

Oh, no. What did he say? He’s afraid to ask. But he _has_ to know.

Sander must sense Robbe’s rising panic because he’s quick to dispel it. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything bad.”

“Just because it wasn’t bad doesn’t mean it wasn’t… embarrassing,” Robbe mutters.

Sander tilts his head. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes are full once more of that playful mischief Robbe has grown accustomed to over the past couple of months, ever since Sander was first hired. From the get-go Sander has seemed intent on tormenting him in every way possible. That doesn’t mean Robbe is giving into his tactics any time soon, though.

“Just tell me if you’re going to tell me. Or else get out and leave me alone.”

Sander just grins at him. “It was my name.”

“What?”

“You were saying my name.”

“I—” Robbe stammers. “You’re lying. You’re trying to fuck with me.”

“Nope.” Sander is still grinning. “Well, I _am_ trying to fuck with you, but not like that.”

Robbe would have tackled Sander right there—and _not_ in a sexy way—if he didn’t still feel a little sick to his stomach. He’s momentarily paranoid that someone else might be around to overhear their conversation.

“Are we alone?”

Sander cocks an eyebrow but answers without further prompting. “Still down at the beach. Moyo said something about a bonfire.”

“Okay, listen.” Robbe curls a fist into the bedsheets to try and ground himself. “I don’t know what you’re planning but I want no part of it. This is hard enough for me as it is.”

“Robbe, what are you talking about?”

“That _thing_ you said last week,” Robbe hisses. “You know.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you _do._ ”

He could slap Sander. Or kiss him. He’s not sure which option is more appealing right now.

“When I pre-fired you,” Robbe says slowly, not wanting to have to finish the rest of his thought aloud, “and you said…”

“Yeah?” Sander replies.

“ThatIwasgonnafallinlovewithyou,” Robbe rushes out.

To his surprise, Sander falls silent. His gaze, normally so steady and certain, is all of a sudden shy, eyes darting everywhere except to meet Robbe’s.

And then he reaches out to cover Robbe’s hand, still clenched tightly shut, with his own.

The whole world seems to slow down.

Sander looks back up at him.

“Did it work?”

Robbe thinks he must be having a fever dream. He almost lifts a hand to his own forehead to feel for a temperature. He definitely does feel hot all over though, but especially where Sander’s skin is still in contact with his, because he apparently isn’t cognizant enough to have pulled away yet.

“You,” he starts, “you asshole. It’s not nice to lead someone on like this.”

Sander’s eyes go wide. “Robbe, I’m serious.”

His hand fumbles with Robbe’s, coaxing his fist to loosen its grip on the bedsheets before twining their fingers together.

Robbe breathes out a shaky, “Oh.”

“I’d kiss you too right now if you didn’t taste like vomit.”

Robbe shakes his head. He’s smiling so hard his face hurts. “Where’s the commitment, man? I’d kiss you to prove I liked you if _you’d_ just thrown up.”

“Wow, you _are_ in love with me, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“That’s a funny way to say yes.”

For the first time of what he hopes is many, Robbe buries his face in Sander’s shoulder to hide his reddened cheeks.

It’s a nice change.

One of what he hopes is many.

* * *

The rest of his hangover is significantly easier to deal with than he could have ever hoped for, thanks to Sander spending most of it next to him in the tiny bunk bed.

(They only leave the room twice—once so that Robbe can rinse out his mouth in the bathroom sink and brush his teeth, and once so that Sander can obtain an armful of snacks from an ancient vending machine for Robbe to slowly nibble his way through.

“I’ll make you real food once you’re feeling better,” he promises.

Robbe only swoons a little.)

Once they’re settled back in their nest of blankets, Robbe sleepily curls an arm around Sander’s waist, fingertips grazing over the thin strip of lovely honey-colored skin where his shirt has ridden up.

Sander kisses his hair, then his temple, then the curve of his jaw, then his mouth. Robbe has never tasted anything sweeter or more luxurious than Sander’s kisses, savoring the unbelievable feeling of Sander smiling into them, the slow slide of tongues, the flutter of eyelashes against cheekbones.

The feeling of Sander being just as smitten with Robbe as Robbe is with him, this starlit boy, born of ambrosia and gold.

They exchange kisses and soft words and softer touches until Robbe loses all concept of the passage of time, and he jumps out of his skin at the sound of a knock on the door. Frankly, he’d also almost forgotten that Sander wasn’t the only other person in the world.

“It’s Jens,” a voice says through the door. “Are you two decent?”

“Fuck off,” Robbe calls back. “Just come in.”

The lock beeps as Jens lets himself into the room with the spare keycard Robbe had given him earlier, and swiftly shuts the door behind him.

“Well, you look cozy.”

Robbe is suddenly aware that he has one leg thrown over Sander and that they’re both in their boxers. But Jens is beaming down at them.

“The others were wondering where you two disappeared off to, so I pretended to go off and search for you.”

“Fuck,” Robbe drags a hand down his face. “I didn’t want us to become the office sluts who sneak away to hook up and end up having to keep it a secret from everyone else.”

“Hey, don’t call my boyfriend a slut!” Sander smacks Robbe in the head with a pillow. Robbe easily pins him to the mattress with one arm.

Jens grimaces. “I don’t know if it’s that much of a secret anymore. I don’t want to say everyone is suspicious about you but… they’re not _not_ suspicious.”

“Goddammit,” Robbe groans. “I’m never going to be able to look any of them in the eye ever again.”

“We haven’t even _had_ sex yet,” Sander supplies sadly. “What’s the point of them thinking we’ve done stuff that we haven’t? Takes all the fun out of it.”

“Okay, well, before you jump each other’s bones, I just wanted to give this back to you.”

Jens holds out the twenty dollar bill to Sander.

“What? Why?”

“I never planned on keeping it, dude.”

Sander makes a noise of disbelief.

“Think of it as a security deposit. Anyway, it’s clear that my work here is done.” Jens winks at them, dropping the money on the bed before slipping back out of the room.

Robbe stares at the wrinkled bill for a few seconds.

“What just happened?”

“I don’t really know,” Sander admits. “Except maybe that Jens is even more of a mastermind that I had expected him to be.”

“I don’t know about that,” Robbe purses his lips. “I’ve known the guy since high school. He’s not exactly the most… observant person.”

Sander shrugs. He snatches up the money, waggling it in Robbe’s face. “Well, at least let this be a lesson to you that sometimes investing _is_ worth it and you get your money back.”

“I’m still not over the fact that I was worth twenty bucks to you, but you’re worth fifty to Britt? How is that supposed to make me feel?” Robbe flops across Sander’s chest in mock upset.

“So how much would you have paid Jens to get to me then? Twenty or fifty? Or call it at the thirty-five midpoint?” Sander tucks his hands behind his head, smirking at Robbe with such fondness that Robbe feels it painfully squeezing his heart.

“Can’t put a price on love, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> [rb it on tumblr here](https://navollidiot.tumblr.com/post/189985631984/35-robbe-x-sander-fic)


End file.
